


Love Changes Things

by Padfootxoxo



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padfootxoxo/pseuds/Padfootxoxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You…you would stay in his place?” The beast’s question broke my train of thought.<br/>“Yes,” I blurted out quickly. Finally the beast turned to face me. His face was strained; he seemed to be trying to understand me.</p>
<p>What if Belle wasn't forced to stay with the beast? What if it was her own choice - a choice she made to escape her own cruel fate? My spin on the classic tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - The Betrothal

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast!
> 
> Hey guys! I hope you all enjoy my story; you can expect weekly updates! I absolutely love constructive criticism! (:

For the past week, I have had the same dream.

I am standing at the back of the town church – this is when I know I am dreaming, because I am to be wed in another town, at a large estate. Perhaps, since I have never seen this place, my subconscious is substituting it for a place I know. Violins begin to play and I walk silently down an aisle, surrounded by pews that hold the entire town. I vaguely wonder why they are all here; they have never cared much for me in the past. I walk alone; my father is surely passed out somewhere, inebriated. I reach the altar and face the man I have to marry. He grins at me and my stomach begins to churn; I am merely a prize to him – another trophy to hang on his wall. The minister speaks, and although I refuse to say anything, to make any vows, it is only a moment before the aged man delivers my sentence in a clear voice:

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

I woke up covered in sweat, my panting barely covering up the hammering of my heart in my chest. Through my window I could see that it was still dark, and I was relieved. I still had a few hours before my fiancé – I shuddered at the thought – and I had to leave for the town across the forest – the town where my free will would die at the altar next to that man. I sighed, climbing out of bed and peeling off my nightgown. I hoped that after a warm bath, I might feel a little better, though I doubted it. 

I crossed into the den area of my father’s house and lit a fire in the fireplace. Soon, I had several pails of water heating over the fire. I carefully transported them to the porcelain tub in the washroom and filled it up halfway. Gently, I lowered myself into the tub, letting the water rise up to my chin. The heat from the water began to relax my tense muscles, and I calmed down bit by bit. Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to wander to the events of this past week that had led me to my betrothal…. 

It had been last Friday night. My father was sitting in his favorite armchair, unusually sober for the late hour. I stifled a yawn, closing the book I was reading. 

“It’s late, Papa,” I said softly. “I think I’ll turn in.” I turned, preparing to head to my bedroom when he stopped me.

“Wait, Belle,” he said. I stood, paralyzed by the sound of his voice. It had been so long – a year perhaps – since I had heard him speak with such clarity. Generally his voice was slurred, tainted by the alcohol he loved so much. I spun around to face him, shock painting my face. If he noticed the surprise, he ignored it.

“Sit down, dear,” he began again. “I have something we must discuss.” Taking my seat, I looked at his face. My father wasn’t very old, not even forty yet, but his face was worn from suffering and liquor. In this moment, however, his face set with determination, I could see him as he had been ten years ago – a serious, hard-working man. Before tragedy ruined my father’s life, he had been a trusted and important man in our small town. He was a jack of all trades, really, and people came to him with a myriad of problems – he was the local handyman, and made quite a living from it. He had this house built for my mother on her 27th birthday, and it was still one of the largest and most furnished houses in the town. He had provided so well for his family that, despite the fact he had made almost no money in the past ten years, we were still able to live comfortably. 

My father couldn’t protect his reputation, however. He had become the town drunk, and people had stopped coming by with broken clocks and farming questions years ago.

“Belle,” he declared, breaking me from my reverie, “you’re not a child any longer. Your eighteenth birthday has come and passed. You’re old enough to – well, to marry.” I blanched at his words. I wasn’t opposed to marriage in any way, but there was no one in the town I would consider marrying for even a moment. 

“You’re smart, hard-working, determined,” he continued. “You’ll make someone a very good wife. Any man would be happy to marry you.” I scoffed, and he glared at me. He had to realize the absurdity of his words. If being the town drunk’s daughter didn’t make me enough of a pariah, my personality certainly did. I was smart, like my father had said, but women weren’t supposed to be smart or think for themselves. People stared when they saw me in the small library our town housed. I never socialized, never dolled myself up in frilly dresses or ridiculous makeup and flaunted my curves around town like so many of the other girls. I wasn’t eager to make myself a housewife, to have to submit to a man who couldn’t care less what I dreamed of doing with my life. My oddities might have been forgiven if my father had still been a successful and respectable handyman, but his alcoholism had ruined any chance I had at acceptance; oddly enough, I found that I didn’t mind either way. I preferred to keep to myself; I encountered much less stupidity that way. 

My father’s eyes bore into mine. “You’re so beautiful, Belle,” he said, and I thought I saw tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “You look just like your mother.” At his words, a few tears threatened to brim over in my own eyes; my mother hadn’t been mentioned in the house for years. After her passing, I learned quickly not to ask my father about her; to mention him would send him straight to the bottom of a bottle.

“Papa, be that as it may, there is no one in this town who would ever marry me,” I insisted. “I’m too…odd.” It stung to call myself that; I didn’t think it was odd that I thought for myself and dreamed of a much bigger life than this town could offer me. My father was already shaking his head.

“You are not odd,” he said sternly. “You’re spirited, just like your mother. And you’re wrong,” he added quietly. He squirmed in his seat, and his eyes flickered to a bottle on the end table. I had to try not to smile; I imagined he wished he had a little help with whatever speech he was about to make. He took in a deep breath, steadied himself, and went on.

“Someone does want to marry you,” he shot out quickly. I gaped at him in disbelief, shaking my head. He just stared at me, worry evident on his face. I waited for him to go on, but then I realized that he was waiting, gauging my reaction.

“Me?” I choked out. My head began to spin, all of the men I knew from town blurring in front of my eyes. “Who?” I demanded. “Who wants to marry me?”

At that moment, the front door slammed open. A gust of cold wind spun into the house, making me shiver.

“I do,” said a man who had appeared in the doorway. The triumphant arrogance in his voice made my heart sink. His long black hair was pulled neatly back into a ponytail, giving me a full view of his face. His cold, icy blue eyes were dancing with certainty on his handsome face. He leaned against the door frame, his bulging arms crossed over his massive chest. He shot me his trademark cat that ate the canary grin, clearly under the impression that I would simper under his good looks.

“Gaston,” I said breathlessly. He mistook my tone for one of endearment rather than shock and his grin widened. Stunned, I turned to look at my father; his face was resigned.

I racked my brain to think back to a time when Gaston and I had engaged in a real conversation, but I drew a blank. However, I didn’t need to have spoken directly to him to know that he was the last person I would ever want to marry. He spent his time hunting, or at the tavern, showing off his trophies and rippling muscles. Although he was extremely handsome, his beauty masked his inner atrocities. 

He cruelly killed wildlife from the forest that bordered our town, often leaving the meat to rot and plastering their heads on the tavern walls. He often got drunk and picked fights with smaller men at the tavern, humiliating them and sometimes even leaving lasting physical damage. I didn’t often listen to town gossip, but it was impossible not to hear the shrill girls exclaiming over how he had bedded them; it often made me nauseous. I saw him several times a week when I had to go pry my father away from a barstool at the tavern. We never spoke, but I would have to be blind to miss the way he looked me over every night – it was the same look I saw people use at the butcher’s before purchasing their meat. 

“That’s right, it’s me,” he said with a grin and a wink. “The way I see it, you and I are the perfect pair. You’re the best looking girl in town, and I’m the best looking person in France. Our sons will be strapping young men.” My brain shouted at me to protest, to stop this before he went any further, but I couldn’t do anything but listen, dumbfounded. “I can picture it now,” he went on. “Our boys will play on the floor with the dogs while you cook the buck I just killed and skinned.” He smiled and looked into the air, envisioning the scene he had concocted. I shuddered as I tried to imagine it, too. 

“So Belle,” Gaston declared loudly. “What’ll it be? Will you marry me?” I was floored and slightly insulted by his impersonal, arrogant proposal. I opened my mouth to puncture his inflated ego, but my father’s voice sounded before I could speak.

“Of course she will!” he announced with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. A small whimper escaped my lips as my father’s betrayal washed over me. Gaston bounded into the house, grabbed my father’s hand, and pumped it up and down, beaming. 

“Excellent, Maurice!” Gaston shouted, shooting me a wink that made my skin crawl. My mouth shot open to protest, but my throat had suddenly become so dry that I couldn’t make a noise. My head began to spin as Gaston and my father chattered cheerfully about the wedding. I clutched my stomach when a date was mentioned.

“Wait,” I said, and they both stared at me. “That’s next week.” Gaston let out a roar of laughter. 

“My dear Belle, I can’t marry you any faster than that!” Gaston exclaimed, taking my hand in his. “We’ll marry next week, at my parent’s house in Roux. Then we’ll come back here and start trying for a family.” He shot me another roguish wink and bile rose up to my throat.

“Tell your parents to build me a house next to their wine cellar!” my father joked, but the jibe was too close to the truth for me to find humorous. Was my father encouraging this marriage because of Gaston’s money? I shook my head slightly, unwilling to believe that.

Gaston shook my father’s hand a few more times before kissing me roughly on the cheek and leaving with a slam of the door. I ran across the den, lifted the window, and was violently sick. I kept my head hanging out of the window, eyes clamped shut, letting the cool October air calm me down. I felt a hand on my back and stood up, turning and shooting my father a desperate look. 

“Papa, how could you?” I asked, full of sorrow. “Belle, can’t you just trust that I have your best interest at heart?”

“My best interest!” I said scornfully. “My best interest has nothing to do with this! I don’t want to marry Gaston! I can barely stand to be around him. I’ll be miserable my whole life, Papa! He’s rude, arrogant, and cruel.”

“You might be a good influence on him,” my father said, trying to reason with me. “Give the man a chance! You’ve hardly even spoken to him.”

“And I’m supposed to marry him? He knows nothing about me, my hopes, my dreams…” I trailed off, fighting back tears.

“Then let him get to know you, and you get to know him! You might find he’s not that bad.”

“I’m not marrying him,” I said loudly, shaking my head. My father glared at me with intensity I had never seen on his face.

“I am your father!” he shouted, his voice rumbling. “You will marry whomever I say you’ll marry!” At that, I lost control. Tears flooded down my face and my chest shook violently as sobs racked my body. My father’s fury dissipated instantly.

“Belle, please,” my father pleaded. “Gaston has influence in town. He’s young, powerful, respected. His family is extremely wealthy. With Gaston, you will want for nothing. Gaston can give you everything.”

Papa claimed to have my best interest at heart. Couldn’t he see that he was wrong, though? Gaston could give me material goods, but he could never give me happiness.

“I won’t be happy,” I said softly, my resistance fading. My father sighed in relief.

“If you wouldn’t be so stubborn, you might be able to find happiness with him,” he said with a slight chuckle. If only it were that simple. I stood up silently.

“I’ll marry him, if that is what you wish, Papa,” I said flatly. He sighed in relief. 

“It won’t be as bad as you think, Belle. I promise. Marriage brings out things in people they never knew were there. Gaston will be a good husband.” Papa smiled at me, but I couldn’t force my muscles up to return even a grimace. Slowly, I began to stagger back to my room. When Papa thought I wasn’t looking, I stole a glance in time to see him down half of the bottle of whiskey in one gulp.

Once I was in my room, I sought solace from my favorite possessions: my books. I picked up the story of King Arthur, but put it back down immediately. I’d never have adventures of my own now. My hand hovered over Romeo and Juliet. Even though it was a tragedy, Romeo and Juliet experienced more love than I ever would with Gaston. I flew to my bed, finally giving myself completely over to tears.

I had never had any silly notions about my life. I knew I would never be a grand adventurer or have love worth dying for. I did, however, long for true love – someone I could be myself around, someone who would listen to my dreams and never squash my free will. I wanted to grow old with someone, to laugh and cry right along with them. Now, I would never have even that. Gaston only wanted to marry me because he thought I was beautiful. I wasn’t a person to him; I was a trophy – a prize to show off. He didn’t care about me in the slightest, let alone love me. Sobs racked through me as I imagined slaving away in a kitchen, cooking something he had killed in the forest while he drank and brawled at the tavern. I shuddered when I thought about his “family” remark – I would have to lie with him, and any children we had would be raised to be exactly like him; the boys would hunt and inherit his ego, the girls would be taught to look pretty and keep their opinions to themselves – or not have them at all. Was someone like Gaston even capable of love? 

Somehow, I doubted it.

In one evening, Gaston had taken everything from me. I turned over, pulled the ribbon from my raven hair and shook it loose. I curled up into a ball, willing myself to sleep; surely my dreams would be an escape from my now grim reality. But Gaston took even that from me, for that night was the first time I had the nightmare.

The next evening, Gaston escorted me to the tavern where he announced our engagement. There was a split second of silence, brought on by Gaston’s strange choice for a bride, no doubt, before everyone erupted into cheers. Several girls shot me envious looks while the men clapped Gaston on the back. One man congratulated Gaston on such a “beautiful wife,” and Gaston promptly hit the man square in the jaw. The other men roared with laughter, but I squealed and pounded on his arm.

“Gaston!” I shouted. “What is the matter with you?” Gaston shot daggers at me.

“He was being cheeky,” he said loudly, sounding happy enough, but he added a hiss just for me. “Do not question me,” he spat. I had to struggle to maintain my composure. What kind of a beast was I being forced to marry? I knelt down next to the man; his lip had bust and began to bleed. I pulled a handkerchief from inside my dress and dabbed at his cut. 

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, giving the man a small smile.

He looked too startled to appear grateful. “Thanks,” he said softly, gingerly touching his bleeding lip. I helped the man up and glanced up at Gaston, who was too busy drinking ale to notice.

After about an hour of drinks, cheers, and congratulations, I tapped lightly on Gaston’s arm.

“I’m tired,” I called over the loud noise.

“You can walk yourself home,” he said, barely taking his eyes off of the tavern girl pouring drinks to look at me. I turned on my heel and stormed out of the building. It was cold outside; October had died away into November, and there was an early chill in the air. I took it as a bad omen and laughed bitterly. I thought of Gaston punching that poor man and shivered. I was betrothed to a monster. In less than a week, he would be my husband.


	2. Chapter Two - Travelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Gaston prepare for their wedding; Belle's father goes missing.

I snapped up in the tub. Rays of light were shining through the window, and the water was stone cold; I had fallen asleep. Cursing myself, I rushed to scrub my body clean and wash my hair. Out of the tub, I quickly braided my black hair and slipped into a plain blue dress. I turned to the mirror in my room and surveyed myself.

‘I look awful,’ was my first thought. My chocolate brown eyes seemed duller, perhaps because they were lined with dark circles from a week of little sleep. My face was slightly thinner; every time I had tried to eat this week my food came right back up. I wrung my hands nervously and began to pace the floor. Maybe it was good that I looked worn out; maybe Gaston would change his mind about marrying me. 

The house was quiet without my father; it had been my idea that he go on a day ahead of time. I suggested he go on and get acquainted with Gaston’s parents so that Gaston and I could have time alone together on our ride to Roux. Gaston and Papa had been thrilled, but really I thought my chances of not having to talk were better if only Gaston were there. If my father made the trip with us, he was sure to nag me if I was silent. The trip wasn’t very long, only about nine hours by horse. There was a road that led to Roux that avoided the neighboring forest, but Gaston had decided we would take a shortcut through the edge of it, shortening the trip even more. My father went this way, and he would have had an even shorter trip since he wasn’t weighed down by an extra passenger.

I was glad to not have to pack anything; there would be a dress waiting for me at my future in-laws’ house. We would be married tomorrow afternoon and then go on a brief honeymoon – I shivered at the thought – at a hunting lodge owned by Gaston’s father at the edge of Roux. Roux was far bigger than my little hometown, and Gaston’s family owned most of it. ‘Wonderful,’ I thought bitterly. ‘More people that think Gaston will make a splendid husband.’

I allowed myself to cry my final tears while I waited for Gaston to arrive; only a few leaked out, and I began to think I had cried myself out throughout the week. Finally there was a bang on the front door before it was flung open and I was forced to face my future husband.

Gaston was beaming at me, though his face fell slightly when he saw me.

“You don’t look well,” he said with a small frown.

“I’m just tired,” I said with a weak smile - of course he had noticed my appearance immediately. He brightened up quickly.

“Be sure to get plenty of rest tonight,” he warned with a grin. “You’ll need it for tomorrow night.” He gave me a malicious grin and sauntered over to me. “Of course,” he went on. “Why wait?” His voice lowered dangerously and my heart stopped when I saw the look on his face. He put his hands on my hips as I stood there, frozen with fear. He bent down and pressed his lips roughly against mine. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me tightly against him. I wasn’t sure how to react, even if I had wanted to. A piece of my heart broke; Gaston was taking my first kiss, just as he would take everything else. Above the sadness, however, was a strange feeling: a burning wave of fury. I clenched my fists and became as still as stone; I would not give Gaston the satisfaction of my compliance. I would marry him, but I would not be happy or act like I was. Gaston must have mistaken my lack of participation as a lack of knowledge, because he pulled away with a roar of laughter.

“There will be time for that,” he said, slapping my behind. I turned scarlet with embarrassment and rage. “Come on, Belle,” Gaston said, taking my hand. I allowed myself to be led out of my house, knowing that the next time I was here I would be married to Gaston. It took me a moment, once we were outside, to notice that there was only one horse. I groaned. 

“I thought you were bringing two horses,” I complained. Gaston laughed again; I considered hitting him.

“I thought we could be cozy on just one horse,” he said, wiggling his eyebrow at me. I resisted the urge to groan again. I let him help me onto the horse, trying to ignore how his hands lingered in certain places. He swung himself easily onto the horse behind me. I was thankful he was behind me; this way I wouldn’t have to wrap my arms around him to keep from sliding off. I didn’t enjoy the way he pressed himself against my backside, but I could tune him out slightly if I shut my eyes tightly. He grabbed ahold of the reins, his arms resting on my thighs, and we began to trot through the town. 

My house being on the edge of town, it only took a few minutes for us to reach the forest. Gaston wrapped an arm around my waist.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said smugly. “I’ll protect you.” I rolled my eyes, thankful he couldn’t see me. 

“Thank you,” I said sarcastically, but Gaston didn’t seem to catch my tone. We rode in silence for a while, the chirping of birds the only noise besides the thud of the horse’s hooves. Despite my desire to be as far away from him as possible, I found myself nodding off, leaning against Gaston’s chest. Suddenly, his booming voice shook me awake.

“Belle, your apparent hesitation to marry me has not gone unnoticed,” he announced grandly. “I have tried all week to figure out what might be causing your reluctance.” I allowed myself a snort; somehow I doubted that the fact that I disgusted him had crossed his mind. “I have finally figured out where your doubt is coming from,” he concluded. He paused, for dramatic effect, no doubt, and I waited in silence, slightly curious.

“You don’t think you deserve me,” he said finally, with a flare of triumph. “And I can understand why you might think that, but dear, you really shouldn’t. I mean, you and I are the two most attractive people in our town. It only makes sense that we would end up together; we each deserve the best. I know you’re intimidated by my good looks – I mean really, who wouldn’t be – but…” I shut my eyes, willing myself to shut him out. How on earth could I be stuck with this pompous, arrogant, idiotic…man? This past week with him had exhausted me, but I didn’t dare to sleep – I was terrified of having the nightmare again. I settled on opening my eyes and looking at the beauty of the forest around me. Birds flittered around above us, singing happy songs; I envied them. How I wished I could be a bird and simply fly away from my harsh reality. Squirrels zipped through the forest floor, making me grin.

My amusement was short lived, however, as a conversation I had had with my father shortly before his departure drifted to the front of my mind….

“Papa, please,” I had said quietly in desperation. “Please don’t make me do this.” I was shamed at the fact that my father had driven me to begging, but this was my last chance. Papa’s glare quickly extinguished the last of my hope.

“Belle, I don’t know what is wrong with you!” he snapped. “This is the best thing that could have happened to you, and you want to throw it away!”

“But Papa –“

“I don’t want to hear it!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the kitchen table. “This is what is best for us – you – and you are going to marry him!” I tried to ignore the fact that he had said it was best for “us” and hung my head in despair. Papa took that as a sign of my final resignation. 

“After all,” he continued with a scoff. “You can’t expect to have any other offers in the future. If you pass this up, that might be it!” He laughed as if it was a joke, but his words stabbed me. Since he passed out with a bottle of whiskey in his hand shortly afterwards, I tried to write his jab off as drunken stupidity.

Deep down, though, I was afraid that my father was right. Should I be happy at my chance to be married? I didn’t expect that I would have another chance at it, just as Papa had said. I quickly pushed that thought from my mind. A high-status marriage wasn’t worth sacrificing my happiness over. I was in the right here; I knew I was. 

“Belle?” Gaston inquired, nudging me slightly.

“Yes?” I replied, torn unwillingly away from my thoughts.

“I asked whether you have eaten bear before,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“No,” I said curiously. “Why would you kill a bear when there are plenty of deer for food?” I heard Gaston scoff.

“Bear is more fun to hunt!” he said gleefully. “They can put up more of a fight, and they make fearsome trophies.” I grimaced, imagining Gaston killing a mother bear, trying to protect her cubs. I suddenly felt nauseous, but Gaston didn’t notice. “And speaking of trophies,” he continued. “The hunting lodge in Roux is full of them, most of which I killed,” he said proudly. “And of course,” he said, his voice dropping. “There is one trophy in particular I think you’ll enjoy.” His hand clenched my leg and I rolled my eyes. I let out a tiny giggle, hoping to appease him, and it seemed to work; his hand loosened its grip.

“Gaston,” I simpered. “Is it all right if I nap? I’m dreadfully tired.”

“Of course, Belle,” he said, his voice full of a grin. “I wouldn’t want you to be tired tomorrow.” I ignored his raucous laughter and leaned back slightly, closing my eyes. I drifted over time; although I wasn’t able to fall into a deep sleep, I was thankful to not have to hear Gaston’s voice any longer.

“Belle!” Gaston’s roaring voice woke me. Groggily, I looked around; the sun had already set and I could see that we were stopped in front of a large house. “We’re here,” he said, hopping off the horse and sauntering towards the estate. I slowly managed to slide myself down from the animal; I gave it a gentle pet on the nose before trudging after Gaston. Two people with lanterns exited the house, coming to meet us: Gaston’s parents. Once I drew closer, I could see that Gaston was an exact replica of his father, though his father’s hair held a few streaks of silver. His mother was a lovely woman who drew Gaston into a hug and kissed his cheeks.

“My dear son,” she exclaimed. “We are so happy you’re home!”

“And this must be Belle,” his father said, turning to me. He took my hand, kissed it, and gave me a smile that made my skin crawl; clearly, that much was genetic. 

His mother gathered me into her arms, kissing my cheeks as well. “You are every bit as lovely as Gaston said!” I managed to plaster a smile onto my face.

“Come inside,” his father boomed, ushering us into the door. The foyer was huge, a giant chandelier gracing the ceiling. A marble staircase led upstairs to the right. I found myself impressed in spite of myself.

“Tell me, dear Belle,” Gaston’s mother said once the front door had been shut. “When is your father coming?” It took a moment for her question to process in my brain.

“Whatever do you mean?” I finally managed to spit out. I glanced at Gaston, whose face mimicked my confusion.

“Your father hasn’t arrived yet,” his mother said slowly. I gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth. I imagined my father, drunk, wandering around the forest on a horse that he hadn’t fed or watered in a day. I turned to Gaston.

“We have to go look for him,” I said quickly. Gaston laughed.

“Don’t be silly,” he retorted. “It’s dark, and the forest is a dangerous place. Besides, are you really surprised that he got lost? That man couldn’t find himself out of the bottom of a mug of beer.” Gaston’s father joined him in his laughter, and I saw a flash of a glare on his mother’s face that quickly disappeared. Fury made my blood boil under my skin.

“Don’t you dare speak about my father that way,” I said through clenched teeth. “If you think I’m not going after my father, you’re an idiot.” My words hung in the air. Gaston’s face turned from laughter to shock to rage. Before I could do anything, he had slapped me hard on the face. To my surprise, neither of his parents did anything; I knew then it had to be a common occurrence. His father seemed passive, with a look of approval on his face, and his mother’s beautiful face was twisted in agony; it was like looking into a mirror. I tried to remain furious, but rebel tears escaped my eyes.

“I will not be spoken to like that!” he roared, his red face inches from mine. “Your father is a drunk who deserves whatever fate he finds in those woods,” he went on. I opened my mouth to respond, but he struck me again; this time, I stumbled backwards. Gaston turned on his heel and sped down a hallway, his father close behind him. I heard a door slam, and I gingerly touched my face. I could feel it beginning to bruise. His mother rushed over to me.

“Come along, dear,” she said as I gave in to sobs. Blindly, I followed her lead up the stairs and into a bedroom. She sat me down on the bed and held me as sorrow overtook me.

“He just has a bit of a temper,” she said, and my head shot up, shock covering my face. In what way was what he had done acceptable? Was I doomed to become this woman, to excuse my husband’s blows and the bruises on my face? She looked at me with pity. “Don’t worry, dear, we’ll find a way to cover it up for the wedding tomorrow.” I let out a disgusted snort and began to wipe away my tears. Just as I had suspected, I seemed to be the only person to see Gaston for what he was.

“I can’t marry him,” I whispered, mortified, before I could stop myself. I hoped she wouldn’t be upset that I was insulting her son.

“I was once in a position much like yours,” she recalled, looking away.

“What happened?” I asked, curious despite myself.

“I was a miller’s daughter,” she breathed. “My family was poor beyond belief. I had been blessed – or cursed, as I’ve come to see it – with beauty. My husband and I met in passing one day at the market; he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me. He showed up the next day to ask for my hand. My parents were thrilled – and so was I. Finally, I was going to have nice things. Neither I nor my parents would ever want for anything ever again. I had grand delusions of a happy marriage, full of love, and I was ecstatic to be able to help my family out. I was blissfully happy, until the night after we were married. I rebuked him for drinking too much, and he…” she trailed off, a look of horror etched on her face. “I grew used to it, after a time, but when I became pregnant I began to fear for my child. When he was born, I lost all hope, for I knew that my son would be raised to do the same things.” 

She gazed at me intensely. 

“Why don’t you leave?” I breathed, thankful that my embarrassing waterworks had stopped.

“I cannot. I have nowhere to go, no family left, nothing. No, I sealed my fate the day I said my vows.” She gave me a strange look – envy, perhaps? – before continuing. “You, however, still have a chance.”

“Your father may want you to marry my son, but you must not do it. I do not wish the life I have had upon anyone. All of my hopes and dreams have been crushed; don’t lose yours, too.”

She slipped something hard and cold into my hand; I looked down and saw a small silver key.

“Make the right choice,” she said simply before turning and leaving me alone in the room.


End file.
